Tuesday, December 11, 2012

So a few days ago I blogged some questions that I'd like to know the answers to. Some people took exception to that. Go read it and the comments. I'll wait....and you're back in the room. Shit ensued on Facebook. Hurrah! Well, not so much.

Despite everyone seeming to not read what I wrote but assume what it said based on my tamblings over the years and all the letters I wrote over the years(which I acknowledged in the post)...I can't remember where I was going with this sentence. It got too long. So, off on a tangent we go-

An interesting point was made, or at least a question came up for me: is it bitter to have questions that you want answered about past events? Obviously given the post and others I've made I don't think it is. Is it possible others see the questions as bitterness because of judgement? Absolutely yes. Is it possible I am actually bitter? Tougher answer.

I feel authentic to say it feels it's hard to imagine how I couldn't have been bitter at one point. Isn't it only natural? Go through what we see as shit, we resent it - natural, right? Especially at those we see as helping to perpetrate it. This raises a further question: am I still bitter?

The argument on Facebook made me realise I still have negative feelings toward certain people. I saw comments and assumed they were directed at me; whether they were or not the feeling was there. I thought I'd lost the judgement and gained lack of judgement - perhaps I was wrong. Maybe there's room to work on there. Maybe it's anger. Maybe it isn't. But it's mine to hold. It's my right to have it. I don't tell people how to live their lives; I don't tell them not to dwell on their past. Freedom of choice is sacrosanct. Maybe people don't like hearing what I see as the truth - I challenged two of them to present to me examples of where I did what they said and I still welcome them to do so.

I was told I've not changed. Really?? Have they actually spoken to me? Of course they haven't. I just had to look up the definition of 'bitter' as I heard myself being it. I was right up above: resentful; intense antagonism; hostility. The latter two I heard all day today from Facebook and the comments here. Do I feel it? I feel defensive. I feel judged. The reasons for my actions are assumed and, as ever, not asked for. They're told to me. That's what I resent. I can live with knowing my letters caused harm. I knew they would when I sent them; it's half the reason I did. I'm not stupid. But I don't like being told why I did it and I don't like being condescended to by being told of their repercussions.or told my motivations especially when they're guessed at and got so catastrophically tragically wrong.

Anonymous said:

"do you seriously expect people to just forget the evil and vile things you have written to them in the past just because YOU decided you wanted them back in your life."

Not at all. But I don't know who this refers to. Or why it would refer to anyone to be honest. I wrote to my sister expressing feeling. She replied in a way that pleased me to my core. Has she expressed resentment for me doing so? Because that's not the impression I get. Someone is being disingenuous. Or not clear.

"Even so, they did let you back into their lives and their home didn't they but to everyone around it just seemed like you wanted to cause as much trouble as possible between the family."

Nope. I'm not following. Who has let me back into their lives? Ae we talking about Pete? What evil and vile things did I write to him? I wrote him some letters before I got married which culminated with me inviting him. We then had an 8 year relationship. Surely if it was based on "evil and vile" letters the issue might have been raised at some point. By someone. What trouble did I cause? I be t over backwards to be accommodating. Or so I thought. Be as vague as you want but without specifics it's kind of hard to answer charges.

"You weren't the nicest of people Jamie"

This I agree with. There were reasons nobody seems to give a shit about but I agree. Does this mean we actually met? Who are you?

" in fact you were very condescending to them and having read your previous blogs you actually said they were common,"

That's a bad thing? Well done for reading so far back by the way. It took me an effort to find that reference and I wrote the damn thing. Again, I'd appreciate specifics of how I was condescending. In my eyes I was verbally respectful.

"it was your choice let's not forget that, everything has been your choice, seeing your dad or not seeing your dad, your choice, so don't go blaming them for everything that's gone wrong in your life and you do blame them, your previous blogs make that quite clear"

"them" being Linda and Pete? My own dear mother also plays a part lets not forget. Or can we conveniently forget her as you don't know her? Or do you? Not quite everything has been my choice. There's lots that wasn't a d that was forced upon me but I won't bore you. I feel confident the point wouldn't be acknowledged. Seeing or not seeing my Dad? You mean when I was 7? That was technically Clare's choice and I followed; personally I don't give a toss about that anyway. In fact I see it as a positive.

"I hope you have managed to put some issues behind you and you have moved on because all bitterness does is eat you away and life is far to short for that,"

Which is why I've devoted hours to writing these blogs where I explain I'VE DONE JUST THAT.

" just accept that you and Lin are never going to get on that is just a fact of life."

Now, see, I dispute the wording here. I could quite easily get on with Lynda. I thought we had some good chats. It's her that chooses to not get on with me. There's a distinction there.

This blog won't last for much longer. I see it as the end of a era. Leaving it behind represents change. Acceptance. And being bored of talking about all this. There may be at least two more before the end though.

Saturday, December 08, 2012

I've got a lot of closure these past three years. I've learned a lot; about myself, others, relationships, food...but there are some things I'd still like to know. I still feel attached to knowing:

How did I get the scar on my leg?

So there's a scar on my calf. I've had it for years and years. It's about 9 cms in length and 2 wide and points downward. According to my mum, who I've asked this question on numerous times, it "got caught in a door". How? It seems to me entirely infeasible to get a scar in that orientation from a door but she's always refused to elaborate. Despite host feel about her I'm still willing to give her the benefit of the doubt because it's hard to quantify that she was physically abusive. If you have a possible answer please let me know.

What did I do to Linda?

My stepmother at one point when I was living with her and my father fell apart crying and screaming and threw me out. I think I've documented this before. Go find it. What did I do? I've asked different family members at different times but they're a) not willing to tell me (weak) b) not willing to ask her (highly likely) or c) she's not willing to communicate what it was because it was so god awful terrible. I'd know wouldn't I if that was the case? I know I've blanked out a lot of stuff from that point in my life but still...

How would my life have been different if I'd said 'yes'?

So I'm 15. Never had a girlfriend. A girl two years below me liked me. She told me. She told me by cornering me in the science block and demanding to be my girlfriend. I said no. What the fuck, Jay?!? She asked me to meet her after school BEHIND THE SCIENCE BLOCK. I said no. What the fuckity fuck, you stupid twunt? Why would you say no?? Well, I was terrified. I had no idea what to do if she...well I didn't know what she'd do to be honest. AND NOW WE'LL NEVER KNOW. I could've had my first kiss. A tug. A BLOWIE! My confidence could've taken a major boost, I could've grown sexually, I'd've learned what to do with this bit of flesh between my legs...

Why do people not reply to the letters I write?

I've written various letters over the past few years to people from my past, either to clear the air, air a grievance, or to rip them to shreds. I'm not sorry about any of them but I do regret one of them. Only two people have ever bothered responding. To be quite honest I wasn't expecting a reply, I was so full of self righteous judgement, and what I got back both times was mature, spoken from the heart, surprising depth. Both times I realized I'd maligned these people for years. One of the other letters was very sensible - I know. A friend approved it. One was deeply personal, heartfelt and heartbreaking to write and a follow up quite caustically mean. What reaction did they cause? Was a reply ever going to come?

What happened when I was 13?

Something happened. I was in my room. Angry. So very, very angry. I had my music turned up just loud enough to deny being able to hear my mum shouting me for dinner. Which she did. And it made me angrier. She just kept shouting and shouting...wouldn't it be more sensible after awhile to either stop shouting or climb up the two flights of stairs? Save your voice, woman. But what made me angry? I wish I knew. That was the year I changed. It was the year the anger started. I went home from school at the start of the holidays a quiet, timid, precocious youngster. I went back defensive, trying to be funny to deflect the crap around me, nervous. And angry. The anger was there. Starting. Building. What. Happened.

What could I have been?

As I said, I was precocious. World at my feet. Options abounded. And then one day I gave up. I decided not to go to university. I accepted a shitty job I hated. I did it for six years. I married a woman out of desperation. We were together eight very long years. I got depression. Things got bad. Shit got real. Where would I be right now if I'd given a shit? If I'd had ambition? Or courage?

There are others but these are top of the tree. Answers on a postcard.